Page 18 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis (In The Heart of A Valentine #17)

“I mean, really cooked. Not ordered takeout or had something catered. Actually stood in a kitchen and made something from scratch.”

“None of your exes cooked for you?”

Her expression shifted, her walls sliding back into place. “My ex had many talents. Cooking wasn’t one of them.”

I let it drop, sensing the conversation had ventured into territory she wasn’t ready to explore.

“I’m glad you enjoy my food. It warms my heart.”

“You make heartwarming food. Never stop doing this. I mean…” she stuttered, “I don’t mean for me I mean period.”

“As long as you allow me to cook for you that’s what I’ll do.”

We eyed each other across the table, and she blushed.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Yes.”

I left the table to retrieve wine, when I returned Naomi had all but cleaned her plate.

“You really do like my food.”

She laughed. “I told you, and that long flight had a sista hungry.”

Laughter jolted from me. “I understand.” I poured her a glass of wine then filled my glass halfway, lifting my glass. “To us, and the friendship we’ve built and what we continue to build.”

She hesitated but lifted her glass and we clinked. I watched her watch me as we sipped and a blush darkened her cheeks.

“This is divine.”

“I agree.”

She took another long sip, and I reached for her hand.

“Come with me.”

I led her through olive groves that rustled softly in the evening breeze. The lake wasn’t far, and I’d had wood stacked beside the fire pit that morning.

“You planned this,” Naomi said as I lit the fire.

“I hoped for this.”

The flames ignited quickly, casting warm light across the sandy shore. Cushions and blankets were arranged in a circle, creating an impromptu outdoor living room beside the water that reflected stars like scattered diamonds.

Naomi settled onto the cushions with a sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I just sat and watched a fire.”

“When you were a kid?”

“Maybe. My dad used to build fires when we went camping. He’d tell stories until I fell asleep.” Her expression softened. “He was good at making ordinary moments feel special.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“The best. He deserves better than fighting bureaucrats for a decent wheelchair.”

I moved closer on the cushions, our shoulders touching. “You’re taking care of that?”

“Yes. Money solves most problems, but it can’t solve the indignity of having to prove you’ve earned something you’ve already earned.”

“Your father would be proud of what you’ve built.”

“I hope so. Sometimes I wonder what he really thinks about my business.”

“What do you mean?”

“His daughter runs an escort service. Even a legitimate one. It’s not exactly what he had in mind when he paid for my MBA.”

“You saw a need and filled it. You created jobs for other women. You built something from nothing.” I turned to face her. “That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“And you? Do you judge it?”

“I’m a client. If I judged it, what would that make me?”

“A hypocrite.”

“Exactly.”

She smiled, settling against my shoulder. “This is nice.”

“Which part?"

“All of it. The fire, the quiet, the fact that my phone hasn’t rung in two hours.” She yawned. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to just be.”

We sat with nightlife the only sound around us as the fire burned down to glowing embers.

Her breathing gradually deepened, and her weight grew heavier against my shoulder.

When I looked down, her eyes were closed, her face was peaceful, and I knew immediately it was something I wanted to see more of from her.

I should have woken her and suggested we go back before it got cold. But the idea of disturbing this moment felt like sacrilege.

When the last ember died, I eased my arm around her, lifting her carefully. She stirred but didn’t wake, instinctively curling against my chest as I carried her back through the olive groves.

The villa was dark except for the lights I’d left on in the entryway. I navigated the stone stairs, not wanting to wake her. Her bedroom was at the far end of the hall, with French doors that opened onto a private terrace.

I set her gently on the bed, and her dress hiked up. She sighed in her sleep with one hand reaching out across the pillow. I pulled the lightweight coverlet up to her shoulders, then stood there watching her sleep.

This was dangerous territory. This desire to protect and cherish her. This was what our arrangement was supposed to prevent.

I was turning to leave when she began to move restlessly, her head turning from side to side.

“No,” she whispered, her voice small and frightened.

I froze, watching as her peaceful expression shift to distress.

“I said no, Gerald.” Her voice was getting louder, more agitated. “I’m not giving you any more money.”

My throat tightened and I wondered who Gerald was.

“I already paid your bail,” she continued. Her hands swatted the air. “No. I said no.”

Her voice was breaking now, desperate.

“Please stop calling me. Please just leave me alone.”

I moved closer to the bed, torn between waking her and letting the nightmare play out.

“No!” she shouted suddenly, rolling from side to side. “No!”

Then her voice changed, becoming who I assumed was Gerald.

“You need to wake up, Naomi,” she said in a deeper voice, Gerald’s voice. “Wake up and realize we’re meant to be together.”

“No!” she screamed, her own voice again. “Never! Never again!”

“Naomi,” I said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Wake up.”

“No!” she shouted.

“It’s me, Naomi.”

“No!”

“Baby…” I slipped my hands over her face, and her eyes flew open. I dropped my hands to her shoulders as she took in her surroundings before landing on me. For a moment, she looked terrified.

“Christian?”

“You’re in Tuscany. You’re safe.”

She blinked rapidly, her breathing gradually slowing as reality reasserted itself. “I was dreaming.”

“About Gerald.”

She pulled away from my touch, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

My eyes dropped to the tremble coming from her. Even in the darkness, I could see that she wasn’t fine.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She turned away from me, facing the French doors where moonlight streamed through the glass.

I was torn between giving Naomi space to process whatever demons had visited her dreams and wanting to protect her from those dreams. But while I considered, I couldn’t make myself walk away.

Instead, I moved around to the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers behind her. She stiffened when she felt the mattress dip.

“Christian...”

“Let me hold you.”

I drew her to me, but she was rigid in my arms for a long moment. Then, gradually, she began to relax, her body melting into mine.

We lay there in silence, both wide awake, listening to each other breathe. I could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she was fighting some internal battle.

“He still calls sometimes,” she said. “Still trying to convince me none of our troubles were his fault.”

I pressed my face into her hair, offering comfort through touch since words seemed inadequate.

“He was a plumber, but he couldn’t keep a job. There was always some crisis, some emergency that required me to fix it. Money problems, legal problems, bail money.” Her voice was flat, emotionless. “I thought that’s what love was. Fixing people—helping.”

My arm tightened around her waist.

“He cheated on me. Repeatedly. With different women, and I kept forgiving him because I thought that’s what wives do. I thought love meant enduring anything.”

That’s when it hit me that Gerald was her husband—ex-husband.

“What made you decide to leave?”

She was quiet for so long, I thought she might not answer.

“I brought another woman into our bed. I was so desperate to save our marriage, to give him what he said he needed, that I...” Her voice broke. “I thought if I could be everything he wanted, he’d stop looking for it elsewhere.”

I wrestled with anger, wishing I could protect her from her past.

“It didn’t work. Nothing I did ever worked. So I filed for divorce, and now he calls me every few months with some sob story about why he needs money or why we should get back together.”

I turned her in my arms, needing to see her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

“None of that was your fault. Not his cheating, not his failures, not his inability to be the man you deserved.”

“I know that here,” she tapped her temple. “But here,” she pressed her hand to her heart, “it’s harder to believe.”

“That’s why you have the rules.”

She didn’t respond, only stared at me.

“It keeps you safe,” I continued as revelation settled over me.

I studied her face in the moonlight, seeing vulnerability there that she’d never let me see before.

“He’s not every man, Naomi. What he did to you, that’s not love. That’s not what this is between you and I.”

She stared at me with those dark eyes that had captivated me from the first moment I saw her. “What is this, then?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know it’s not what you had with Gerald.”

She sighed, settling back into my arms. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For listening and not trying to fix it or tell me I should be over it.”

I took that as her way of ending the conversation.

It was more than I’d gotten out of her before.

So I’d take it as progress. We laid there until her breathing evened out and she drifted back to sleep.

I stayed awake, holding her, processing everything she’d told me, trying to figure out how I was supposed to pretend this was still just an arrangement when every instinct I had was screaming at me to protect her.

By the time dawn began to lighten the sky outside the French doors, I knew with absolute certainty that our rules were no longer enough for me.